


In the Shadows (For Far Too Long)

by lyonet



Series: Do We Live [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Graves' POV, Grindelwald being generally creepy, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 08:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9114196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyonet/pseuds/lyonet
Summary: “I’m dangerous,” Credence whispers. “I don’t know what will happen.”Graves doesn’t know what Grindelwald would have answered, what words will hit bruises he can’t see. All he can say is what he thinks. “So be dangerous. All of us here are.”





	

Graves wakes suddenly in the night to the clink of metal and his wand is already in his hand, a curse aimed at the door, but it’s only the Niffler trying to steal his cufflinks. Again. Despite all the charms Graves has cast to protect his possessions, the little thief is a creature of boundless optimism. Eventually, Graves reflects as he rolls onto his back and looks at the ceiling, he will probably give in and just let it have the wretched things if it wants them so badly.

It is four a.m. He’s not going to sleep again tonight, so he may as well get up.

He takes longer than he wants to admit to find the kitchen, still unused to the floor-plan of his new apartment – which is not surprising given how little time he has spent here, as his shortage of groceries (and furniture) can attest. He fills a glass with water and goes to the window, twitching the curtain aside to cast a wary look at the street far below. There are so many protective spells on this apartment that it’s a wonder he can get in and out at all, but he doesn’t let that lull him into a false sense of security. He had wards on his home before, and they failed him.

The next time someone comes through his door uninvited, he is going to kill them.

*

_Things Percival Graves has never told anyone, No.1._

He is not nor has ever been interested in duelling. He learned to be good at it out of spite, to beat Seraphina Picquery. At school their competition had been legendary, though they had managed to squeeze in a grudging friendship around the edges. She was the superior Quidditch player (just), he was the better scholar (by a razor thin margin). Duelling was just another stage in their cordially violent one-upmanship. Graves didn’t do things halfway; either he was going to be the best, or it wasn’t worth bothering with. He liked Seraphina because she was the same way.

He didn’t know why she liked him, or if she really did. Maybe for the challenge.

It usually came to a draw between the two of them. The only way to find out which was the better sorcerer would be a true fight, no holds barred, and Graves would never go against her in that. But the man wearing his face would. The man wearing his face did.

And at first, she believed it was him.

Seraphina is probably the closest friend Graves has ever had. He’s worked alongside her for over twenty years as they rose through the bureaucracy of the MACUSA side by side. He is so grateful she survived that it sometimes wakes him up at night, and he hates her so much it aches.

*

The first thing Graves does every day when he goes in to work is to check Grindelwald is still there. It’s the last thing he does when he leaves. He’s been assured many times – by Seraphina, by the guards, by everyone who knows about his new ritual and dares argue with him about it – that the wards on the cell are unbreakable. “Everything breaks,” is his only answer.

Grindelwald smiles at him. Compliments his tie. Asks after his health. Makes courteous commentary on the weather, even if he’s so far underground he has to invent meteorological phenomenons to talk about.

Graves never answers, or lingers. He returns to his office and shuts the door against the questioning eyes of his Aurors. Most of them tried to apologise, when he first came back to work, but he brushed them off with a brusque instruction to just get on with the job. “I don’t have time for this,” was what he said, when what he meant was, _I am not dealing with your guilt on top of everything else._ He thinks the underlying message came across.

Porpentina Goldstein is an exception. She didn’t wring her hands over past mistakes; she actually did something useful about them, and for that she’s earned the dubious honour of being his right hand Auror. She’s coping quite well so far, for someone who can barely meet his eye and winces when he waves her away. Graves sometimes thinks wistfully of Queenie Goldstein, whose talents he saw in action during Grindelwald’s interrogation, who would be so very useful right now, but he knows she’s too kind-hearted to work with him.

And of course, she’s more or less engaged to a No-Maj. Graves has no stake in that mess one way or another, but it’s causing quite the scandal. He heard one of the younger Aurors ask Tina about it the other day and get an answer that reminded Graves quite strongly of himself. Her temper’s grown shorter since Scamander left for England a few days ago. He will be returning for Jacob and Queenie’s wedding, having apparently been secured as best man (and having left Graves with a thick stack of papers covering every possible thing it is possible to know about Nifflers) but that won’t be for months yet, which leaves the Goldstein sisters a little shorter on friends than they can afford. In the wake of Grindelwald’s attack and the ensuing raids, the wizarding world is not inclined to be tolerant of rule-benders. Trust is thin on the ground right now in all quarters.

Graves, for instance, has a Niffler stealing wands from all over the MACUSA, something that is sort of technically illegal and certainly inconvenient to the people who suddenly find themselves wandless at unexpected moments. He returns the stolen goods, of course – while the Niffler is more reluctant about that task, it will do pretty much anything for a good bribe – but tests each wand before he does so, finding out what spells they have performed recently, checking for dark magic. So far the worst he’s seen are ill-advised Engorgement Charms ( _not_ something he needed to know about Abernathy’s personal life) and mild jinxes.

Graves is not reassured. Grindelwald would not have got as far as he has without informants; someone in the MACUSA is not who they pretend to be, he is sure of it.

There are no raids scheduled for this morning so he devotes himself to paperwork, signing off on the various forms and reports that require his specific approval. He looks down at his signature, an automatic impatient scrawl, and wonders how many documents Grindelwald signed. Nothing in his life has gone untainted.

A hesitant knock snaps him out of it. He looks up, ready to bite off whatever head is poked around the door, only to start in surprise when he sees Credence standing there, holding his hat awkwardly and waiting for permission to enter. “What are you doing here?” Graves asks bewilderedly, before realising how unfriendly it sounds. He thinks he’s entitled to some shock. The last place that New York’s notorious Obscurus should be is _here_ , at the heart of the MACUSA, with the Aurors who tried to kill him sitting at their desks a few yards away.

“Get inside,” Graves adds as this thought strikes him, standing up quickly and propelling Credence in with a hand on his arm. A flick of his free hand shuts the door. A finger-snap brings over a chair for Credence. “What’s happened?”

Credence looks a bit startled at the speed with which he’s deposited in the chair. He’s not accustomed yet to the everyday magic that smooths the edges of wizarding life. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, looking up at Graves with the sad dark eyes that imply something _is_ wrong but he doesn’t expect Graves to fix it. He keeps looking for a long moment, his lips slightly parted, before jerking his head away and staring fixedly at his shoes instead. He looks so different after a few weeks in the Goldstein household, but an aura of neglect clings to him still, like an abandoned house where repairs have been begun.

“The President wants to interview me,” he says very quietly. “I thought – I mean, I hoped…”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Graves guesses.

“Would you?” Credence asks, and it might have sounded shy if it had not been for the sharp upward flick of his eyes – there’s more riding on the answer than Graves is aware. He doesn’t like that. He also doesn’t like that he was not told anything about this interview.

“Oh, I’m definitely coming,” he says, with a smile that he knows is not entirely pleasant. “You couldn’t keep me away.”

*

_Things Percival Graves has never told anyone, No.2._

He only went to see Credence out of curiosity. Goldstein threw her career away for the boy and Graves wanted to know why. He stood on the outskirts of one of the Barebone woman’s meetings, this one held on a street corner, holding up foot traffic and annoying surrounding shopkeepers. The Second Salem children went through the crowd, passing out pamphlets. Credence, shoulders hunched, head bent, the visual personification of low expectations in life, offered one to Graves without looking up and would have kept walking if Graves had not caught his arm.

The boy’s reaction to that had been disproportionately intense; he had gone completely still, his arm trembling in Graves’ grip. He looked up. “Sir?”

“Tina Goldstein asked me to check on you,” Graves said bluntly.

This was a test. The boy had been Obliviated; he should be confused, tell Graves he’d come to the wrong place. He did not do those things. His eyes searched Graves’ face and he said, in soft, awed tones, “You’re a wizard.”

Graves hauled him into the nearest alley and Disapparated them both. Possibly this was an even more disproportionately intense reaction, but who knew what the boy would say next on a _public No-Maj street_. The two of them appeared, for lack of Graves having a better idea, in his apartment. It was a space he could control, at least.

“How do you know that?” he demanded.

Credence wavered dazedly, opened his mouth, then passed out. Graves caught him before he hit the floor and propped him against the couch cushions where he could be surveyed with a doubtful eye. Malnourished, under-dressed for the weather, a rough haircut and an exhausted face; if anybody in Credence’s life was looking after him, it didn’t show. Graves had not realised Goldstein had a such a maternal streak. But why _this_ boy? There were plenty more No-Majs on the streets of New York who had much less than he did.

Graves bent over him, intending to wake him up, and saw his hands. The left palm was striped with red welts, so raw it made Graves curl his own hand a little in sympathy. Upon closer examination, he realised the welts went some way up the boy’s arm too. Made with a belt, from the look of them.

“Oh, Goldstein,” he sighed. He could not blame her for the misjudgement – there was something deeply repellent about this kind of situation, made all the worse by how little could be done about it. The law, No-Maj and wizarding alike, was not very interested in the basic cruelties that respectable citizens sincerely believed they had every right to inflict.

Credence stirred. Graves sighed, then waved his wand irritably at the kitchen and summoned a glass of water, which he pressed into Credence’s uninjured hand. He rather expected the boy to drop it and flee, under the circumstances, but Credence accepted the glass obediently and drank while his gaze skittered all over the apartment. He did not ask the obvious question, which was surely _why have you kidnapped me and do you plan on ever letting me go?_ He thanked Graves politely and sat up with his hands folded in his lap, to await whatever was going to happen next.

It would have been helpful, Graves thought, if either of them knew what that was.

“How did you know I am a wizard?” he asked. He sounded less aggressive, more tired.

Credence looked up at him. “Was I not meant to know?” he asked.

Graves ran a hand through his hair and thought about Goldstein’s empty desk outside his office. Either Credence had already been Obliviated so many times he had developed a block against it, or he had a little natural magic that was resisting the spell. Both possibilities were rare. Had Goldstein been aware of that, or had she just seen a boy who needed help?

“You will not tell anyone about what you’ve seen,” Graves instructed. “If you do, I’ll know.”

Credence nodded promptly. “Yes, sir.”

“You will not tell anyone that you met me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will take you home and it will be like this did not happen.”

“Yes, sir.”

Graves held out a hand and Credence took it without hesitation – his left hand, since he was still holding the glass in his right. The welts pressed against Graves’ palm, but Credence didn’t even wince. He was used to being hurt.

“Wait,” Graves said. He turned Credence’s hand over in his, not missing the tiny shiver this elicited, and ran a careful thumb over the worst of the cuts. The redness faded; Credence made an almost protesting noise in his surprise. “There,” Graves said. “They’ll heal faster now.”

Credence stared at his hand, still cradled in Graves’ larger palm. “Yes, sir,” he said at last, as if he had forgotten there was anything else he could say.

*

Seraphina does not look surprised when Graves comes into the room at Credence’s side, but that may be because she’s too busy being annoyed by both the Goldstein sisters at once. All three women turn around at the sound of the door clicking shut and Tina actually looks relieved to see Graves. That’s unexpected.

“He’s done nothing _wrong,_ ” Queenie says, returning to the point at hand _._

“Half of New York could make an argument to the contrary, Miss Goldstein!” Seraphina says exasperatedly. “Mr Barebone may not have meant any harm, but you cannot deny he caused it. In order for him to live freely in our world, I need some guarantee that he can control himself.”

“What kind of a guarantee?” Graves asks sharply.

“What do you mean by ‘freely’?” Tina demands.

“Grindelwald used him!” Queenie cries. “You can’t blame him for falling into the same trap as everybody else!”

Seraphina visibly decides to ignore the Goldsteins in favour of speaking directly to Graves, who she is used to arguing with anyway and will understand any subtextual threats she chooses to make. She has glanced at Credence only once, when he entered the room. His agreement is not necessary to any of this.

“I want him trained,” she says. “His abilities have to be tested, his knowledge of our world expanded and his criminal actions – however unintended, Miss Goldstein! – atoned for with useful service. The three of you appear to have taken some degree of responsibility for his welfare, so I think it’s suitable that you take on the bulk of his training. I will of course appoint alternative teachers if you feel incapable of taking on the task.”

(The threat here being, _I am more than willing to lock him up if I’m not satisfied._ )

“No problem,” Queenie says immediately. Graves has the impression she would have said that if Seraphina had insisted Credence be trained on the moon.

“The three of us?” Tina says, trying not to sound as horrified as she evidently is, though that is not half as horrified as Graves feels.

Credence is standing very quiet and still, as if he might disappear if he concentrates on it hard enough, and as there is a strong chance of that actually happening, Graves deals with him first. “Wait,” he says firmly, then turns to Seraphina. “A word, Madam President?”

“What the devil are you doing?” is what he says when they are alone in the hallway. “I am not a teacher and I don’t have time anyway, as you already know. I’ve got an organisation of dark wizards to burn to the ground and my Aurors to whip back into shape, not to mentions months of paperwork to check through – ”

“Please don’t say it,” Seraphina sighs.

“Because you didn’t notice,” Graves continues, “that Gellert Grindelwald had taken up residence in my office and that I was walled up alive in my own home, so if you could just leave me to get on with my job and also leave Credence in peace to recover from nearly being executed in a subway tunnel, I think that would honestly be more helpful.”

“It was a very good impersonation of you, Percival,” Seraphina says quietly.

“It must have been.”

“But it’s Grindelwald who concerns me,” she says. “Credence was serving him, however unwittingly, for weeks. His allegiance is a question I want resolved."

“You think he’s loyal to _Grindelwald_? The man used him in the most despicable way – ”

“That boy could destroy the city single-handedly,” Seraphina hisses. “I saw what he’s capable of. You are going to watch him like a hawk until you can look me in the eye and say he’s no threat to New York.”

“You know who the threat to New York is.”

“And I have _told_ you,” Seraphina says, her voice rising despite herself, “if I could execute that man, I’d be sleeping much better at night myself. But I can’t. The Minister for Magic wants him extradited for trial. Until negotiations are settled, all I can do is keep him imprisoned.”

“If you send him back to England,” Graves says, “you might as well set him free right away.”

Seraphina presses the heel of her hand against her forehead, a gesture he remembers from their school days as her finding the strength not to punch him. “That would be why I haven’t done it.”

“Credence hates him.”

“What difference does that make? I expect he hated his mother, but he stayed with her, didn’t he?” Seraphina waits for Graves to meet her gaze. “Either you watch him or somebody else does, but these precautions are necessary. I’d prefer it was you. I think he would too. The boy does seem rather star-struck by you, after all.” Graves is too taken aback to do more than frown and Seraphina adds tersely, “Now, I have a group of foreign diplomats to appease and a paranoid No-Maj newspaper mogul to somehow calm down, so please take this off my hands before I have to think of a different solution to the problem.”

*

_Things Percival Graves has never told anyone, No.3._

He is an enormous hypocrite.

He did not intend to keep seeing Credence. Curiosity satisfied, duty discharged, he could now leave the Second Salem mess behind, which was only fair since it was not his mess to worry about in the first place. But Credence stuck in his mind, that strange combination of stubborn hopeful wonder and ground-down patience. _He has no one else,_ Tina had said, and Graves saw that it was true. He remembered the red lines on a slim, work-roughened hand and the look on Credence’s face when he’d taken the pain away.

A week later, he went back.

It wasn’t hard to find out where the next speech was being held or to go unnoticed at the edge of the skeptical crowd. Unnoticed by the Barebone woman, that was – Credence, standing to one side with his hands full of pamphlets, looked straight at him like Graves had called his name. It was unnerving and Graves was not used to being unnerved. When Credence was sent out into the crowd after his mother’s fire and brimstone lecture, Graves caught his eye again and turned down an alley, sure that he would be followed. As he was.

“Credence,” he said, when the boy appeared a few minutes later, faster than anticipated. “How are you?”

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” Credence said. “Are you here to Ob…viate me?”

“Obliviate,” Graves corrected. “And no, Credence, I’m not. It wouldn’t do much good if I tried. You’re rather special, I think.”

Credence stared. It could not have been more painfully clear that nobody in the whole course of his life had implied that he might be special before. Graves had a sudden, uncharacteristic urge to…hug him or something. “Do you have time before she expects you back?” he asked bluntly.

“A little.”

“Then you may as well come with me,” Graves said, and offered his hand. He was prepared for Credence to back away, as any sensible person would, but Credence did not even hesitate. He handled the shock of Disapparition much better this time, swaying in place and grasping at the nearest wall but keeping his feet. Graves patted him briskly on the back.

“Come along,” he said, taking his elbow to guide him into a nearby diner. It was a No-Maj place, but it served very good coffee and the waitresses were not interested in anything but talking to each other, so it was fairly safe for private conversation. After giving Credence a few minutes to panic over the menu, Graves took it away and ordered for him.

“You can’t want to spend money on me,” Credence muttered. “This is expensive.”

“It’s not my money,” Graves said, “and I can spend it on whatever I like.” Realising that this sentence would not make much sense to Credence and could possibly imply he was a burglar, he added, “It’s No-Maj money, it doesn’t mean much in my world.”

Credence’s attention was already fixed on him completely but it sharpened somehow at that casual reference. Graves was not the only one here with curiosity to satisfy.

“Is Miss Goldstein all right?” Credence asked, taking a long sip of the hot chocolate Graves had ordered for him. His eyes went very wide at the taste. “I hope I didn’t get her into trouble.”

“She made her own choices,” Graves corrected him. “She’s fine. You don’t need to worry.”

“Yes, sir.” Credence’s standard answer. He drank more of the hot chocolate, pale hands wrapped around the warm cup. It wasn’t winter yet but the wind was cold outside; most passersby were wearing gloves. Looking at him, Graves felt an uncomfortable mixture of guilt, frustration and anxiety. He was not responsible for Credence in any way. He couldn’t help him, he wasn’t even supposed to be talking to him. But. He didn’t have fucking _gloves._ He behaved as if Graves was unspeakably generous when Graves was self-aware enough to know he was actually being abrupt, mysterious and kind of rude.

Two omelettes were served up by one of the distracted waitresses, who also brought a pot of coffee before returning to the riveting conversation she was having with the other girl. Graves planned to tip her heavily. Credence ate quickly and neatly, not making conversation. He was waiting again, for Graves to decide what to do with him. Graves wondered if he possessed any instinct for self-preservation. How far would he allow himself to be pushed before he pushed back, if he would ever push back at all?

“You said I was special,” Credence said, startling Graves out of his thoughts. “What did you mean?”

That sounded rather like pushing back, if very politely done. “No-Majs don’t remember people like me if we don’t want them to. You were Obliviated, but you still remember Goldstein. It’s unusual.”

“Is it bad?”

“No.” Graves studied him intently over his coffee cup. “Tell me about yourself, Credence.”

It was like pulling teeth, getting information out of Credence. For one thing, he obviously wasn’t used to these sorts of questions, and it was just as obvious that he didn’t really want to answer them. Graves heard a polite little spiel about the Second Salem cause, about the charity of Credence’s ‘Ma’ and the piety of his sisters, and then Credence closed up like a book after the final page.

Graves let it go. Everyone was entitled to a bit of secrecy, Credence perhaps more than most. Paying the bill, Graves stood up and Credence followed him out of the diner. This time Graves apparated closer to the Second Salem church, aware of the late hour. “Thank you, sir,” Credence said, shivering in the chilly wind after the warmth of the diner.

“You’d better leave those with me,” Graves remarked, taking the pamphlets out of Credence’s pocket. He glanced down at the picture of the burning witch, a grotesque woodcut print, and flicked his wand in distaste. The paper flared up with green flames. Credence jerked backward, but his eyes were full of wonder. He didn’t seem to care that much for his mother’s cause.

“Sir,” he said, then stopped. Graves waited. “Will I see you again?”

_No,_ Graves thought. “I imagine you will,” he said, Disapparating before Credence could ask anything else.

They did see each other again. Once a week or so, in the beginning, but more often as time went on. If there was time, they would go to the diner. If either one of them could only spare a few minutes, they met in alleyways where Graves could Apparate without fear of being seen and if necessary (which was often) apply healing magic to Credence’s hands or back away from prying No-Maj eyes. It humiliated Credence to ask for help, Graves saw, but he needed it so badly.

Graves was mortified to realise that he was becoming almost as dependent on this peculiar friendship as Credence was, with significantly less excuse. As he didn’t get along with his family and was too busy to keep up with most of his old friends, nearly everyone in his day-to-day life were the people he worked with. Credence was someone he could talk to who didn’t want his opinions on the next election (did he still support Picquery? Did he have ambitions himself?) or worse, on fucking Grindelwald and his band of fanatics.

Credence was older than Graves had first thought. Taller too, taller than Graves if he stood straight, though he hardly ever did. He would talk if guided to the right subject (Graves got better at picking the right subjects – the little sister, Modesty, was a good one) but preferred to listen. Graves didn’t even need to talk about the wizarding world to enthrall him; a diatribe on everything that was wrong with British politics or the explanation of the plot of a play garnered the same fascination. Credence was careful, unassuming, and paid such close attention in every conversation that he could repeat back details Graves had thoughtlessly let drop almost verbatim. Sometimes, usually without knowing how he did it, Graves could make Credence smile.

They were friends. That was a big enough breach of law; there was no point considering anything else, and Graves didn’t.

But oh, he was a hypocrite.

*

“Ideally,” Graves says, “don’t blow anything up. You can set things on fire, as long as it’s nothing alive. Are you ready to start?”

“No,” says Credence.

“You’ll be okay, honey, we’re right here,” Queenie says soothingly. Then, in answer to something Credence didn’t say, “Don’t worry about that. If the roof collapses, Tina and Mr Graves here will show off what swell Aurors they are by holding it up.”

Graves looks at Tina and they both discreetly add some bracing charms to the ceiling. It’s Graves’ apartment, on the principle that he has less furniture to destroy and less fucks to give, and it’s already pretty heavily muffled in protective enchantments. The living room has been entirely cleared, just to be on the safe side. Seraphina has so far refused permission for Credence to be supplied with a wand and Graves can’t blame her, since they really don’t know what the magic of an Obscurus would do with one, but Queenie and Tina brought a box of old Ilvermorny textbooks with them to run through basic spells. Credence stands in the middle of the floor, looking terrified.

Graves has seen him three times since Grindelwald’s capture. At the interrogation, at the warding of Queenie and Jacob’s bakery, at the interview with Seraphina. Today makes a fourth. Every time, they have been surrounded by people, the centre of attention, barely talking to each other – the antithesis of everything in their relationship before. Graves is grateful for that. It keeps reminding him that everything _is_ different now.

But this part is familiar. Credence is strung tight with dread and Graves feels that rare, frustrating compulsion to do something about it.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he says quietly, coming up behind him.

“I’m dangerous,” Credence whispers. “I don’t know what will happen.”

Graves doesn’t know what Grindelwald would have answered, what words will hit bruises he can’t see. All he can say is what he thinks. “So be dangerous. All of us here are.”

*

_Things Percival Graves has never told anyone, No.4._

He remembers Grindelwald’s attack. He told the mediwizards that it was a blur, and some of it was at the time, but instead of fading as time passes, the memories only grow sharper. Grindelwald must have been watching him for weeks, learning his habits, before he picked his moment. The ensuing duel savaged the apartment. Graves remembers the exact moment when his wand arm was hit with a curse that made it feel on fire, a pain so intense his fingers went numb, and he realised that he was going to lose. He thought, _I go down fighting._

Only it didn’t happen like that.

Grindelwald kept him awake at first. He wanted information, but – and this was his real weakness – he didn’t have the patience to extract it properly. Graves made up plausible-sounding answers and hoped against hope that somebody would notice the mistakes. The day Grindelwald worked out what he was doing was the same day Graves tried to escape. That part _is_ blurry; the Cruciatus curse gets into your head when it’s used for too long. Fortunately, there were things in Graves’ head Grindelwald still wanted.

So after that, he was kept unconscious. Grindelwald would only wake him up when he was trying for information again, or wanted a literally captive audience to complain at about all things American. The man was astonishingly petty. Graves supposed that was the kind of personality it took to try and start a war with the majority of the human population.

Grindelwald already knew about Credence. He must have seen them together, despite all Graves’ precautions, and had developed an interest of his own. Recounting those meetings was one of his favourite topics when he roused Graves out of enchantment for another monologue. Graves tried not to react. The less he seemed to care, the better. But Grindelwald seemed to see what he was feeling anyway, and delighted in it.

“That boy would do anything for me,” he remarked once. “I’m trying to decide what to ask of him next. What do you think? Should I teach him a few magic tricks on his knees?”

Graves had never wanted to strangle someone so badly in his life.

He doesn’t remember his rescue, but he knows what happened, he read Tina and Queenie’s written statements while he was still recovering. The mediwizards had not wanted to give him any official paperwork but Graves’s temper had not been in any better shape than his body and he’d got what he wanted quickly enough. He read Credence’s name over and over, running his finger across the word ‘Obscurus’ and wondering why the hell he hadn’t seen it before.

He decided while still in hospital that he would keep his distance in the future. Credence had been put through enough by the man wearing his face; Graves would explain what had happened and then leave Credence in peace to rebuild his life without the baggage of mistrust. Graves understood what it felt like to look at familiar faces and realise you didn’t know them at all.

It was not a feeling he would inflict on anyone.

*

_I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS,_ Graves writes to Seraphina. _Let Goldstein train him._

_Absolutely not,_ Seraphina retorts.

_Then at least let me get him a wand so we can do this properly._

_Keep your fucking Niffler out of my office and I’ll consider it._

_Do not criticise my Niffler. It is already better at its job than my entire department._

_I am aware of your opinions on your department. You have told me this before._

_Have I? Can you be sure? It might have been some other dark wizard wandering around the building. Who knows how many of them are on the payroll._

_I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS, PERCIVAL._

Credence learns fast. He studies the books of basic spells, repeating the words until they roll naturally off his tongue. Queenie, who has the most patience, teaches him the small, essential skills that are second nature to a trained wizard and Tina volunteers to catch him up on the entire history of the wizarding world, because she is rash like that. Graves, who has to carve chunks of time out of an already overcrowded day, who is no way temperamentally suited to teaching and anyway planned on avoiding Credence until all of this hurt less but now _can’t_ (thank you, Seraphina, you are too kind), is the one showing Credence how to use a wand.

He is intensely grateful that neither Queenie nor Tina have a lewd sense of humour.

“But you don’t use a wand,” Credence says, frowning. “I’ve seen you…”

He goes quiet. Graves turns aside so his bitterness will be slightly less visible. “I do prefer wandless magic, where possible, but most spells require one and besides, it take years of training and discipline to go without.”

Credence nods. He understands discipline, of course.

These sessions are…stilted. Often Queenie will invite herself along to sit at the back of the room and say encouraging things – Graves is relieved enough to have her there that he doesn’t mind too much when she directs those encouraging things at him as well, but some days, like today, she is occupied with starting a business and Tina is doing her actual job, which leaves Graves and Credence alone together. Credence is borrowing Graves’ wand. It is far from ideal; a wand never works as well for another wizard, and it makes Graves twitchy to have his away from his hand.

It is also, very inconveniently, the most sensual thing he never saw coming. Credence’s pale fingers are so careful against the familiar ebony, following the motions he’s learned from observation. He is learning a Summoning charm. “Accio,” he says to the cushion in the middle of the floor. “Accio.”

Graves is sitting behind him, trying not to doze off in the middle of correcting his pronunciation. Credence keeps turning his head, not far enough to look at Graves but enough that it’s clear he wants to. Graves isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do when his very presence is distracting from the lesson he’s trying to impart. Well, he should probably move, but is too tired to bother with that.

“I’m not doing it right,” Credence says tensely.

“You’re doing it with another wizard’s wand,” Graves points out. “Be patient. Try again.”

Credence tries again. And again. At least Graves expects that’s what happens, because he falls asleep on the kitchen table and wakes up an hour later with Credence seated across from him, drinking tea and watching him thoughtfully. It’s a look that Graves knows from looking at Credence when he thinks himself unobserved, and it vanishes as soon as Credence realises Graves is awake.

“Are you – not well?” Credence asks, stumbling over the words almost guiltily.

“It was a long day,” Graves says, sitting up. He holds out his hand for a second teacup, unthinkingly, and Credence tracks its rapid flight from the crockery cupboard. “I apologise, Credence. If I do that again, just wake me up.”

“You looked tired,” Credence says softly.

“I’m told I generally do.”

“Mr Graves. Can I ask you a question?” At Graves’ nod, Credence continued, sounding resolute, “You said a wand won’t serve another wizard.”

“Not quite,” Graves says. “Except in very rare instances, it’s more resistant. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Why did Grindelwald use yours?”

Graves concentrates on pouring tea. “Because he was pretending to be me,” he says baldly, when he can trust himself with the answer. “And I would never use another wand. He kept his own close, but he only used it when he was with me.”

He instantly regrets admitting that. Credence looks stricken.

“You’re right,” he says.

Graves raises his eyebrows. “As a general rule. About what, specifically?”

“To be angry with me,” Credence says. “I should have known it wasn’t you.”

“ _Angry_ …? With you? No. Credence, why do you think I’m angry with you?”

“You don’t want to be here. I make you uncomfortable,” Credence recites. “You used to talk to me. You only talk about magic, now.”

“I’m not…” Graves rakes his fingers through his hair. “ _No._ After everything, I thought you would want some space away from me. I haven’t done you much good.”

Credence’s eyes flick up. He looks incredulous. “Don’t lie,” he says, somewhere between pleading and furious. “You don’t have to be…kind to me. I don’t want that.”

“Well, that’s bad luck, since you’re the only person I _want_ to be kind to,” Graves says, more sharply than he meant it. “I’ve been cleaning up after Grindelwald for months. I don’t know how many people across the city think they’ve met me or what he did to them, but I do know what he did to you. How can you want me near you?”

Credence’s hands are shaking so badly the tea is slopping all over the table. He puts the cup down. “That’s all I want,” he says flatly. It is so resigned it sounds like a rejection.

“What does that – mean,” Graves says. “Credence. Tell me what you want from me.”

Instead, Credence stands up. He comes around the table, going to his knees in front of Graves’ chair, head tilted up as if in supplication. “Can I show you?”

“…yes,” Graves says, very softly. “Show me.”

Credence’s hands are still shaking when he places them very carefully on either side of Graves’ face, tipping it down. The kiss is tentative with inexperience, among other things. Graves slides his fingers into the thick hair at the base of Credence’s skull and gently takes control of the kiss, coaxing his mouth open with patient urgency. Credence grips at his knees like he thinks he’ll fall, but there is no chance of Graves letting that happen.

“How long?” he asks, against the corner of Credence’s licked-wet mouth.

“Every day,” Credence says hazily, as light-headed as he was after that first Disapparition. “Every day since I met you. Please. Don’t…please don’t stop, I want…”

Graves gets hold of his elbows and urges him up. Credence gets about halfway before giving into temptation and they’re kissing again, deeper, no caution left, while Credence straddles his lap and winds his arms around his neck. The kitchen chair is not ideal for this arrangement. Graves doesn’t care. He steadies Credence with a hand on his back and braces his free hand on the table for leverage, focused on this moment, on this kiss and then the next.

“It’s you, it’s you.” Credence is sobbing, clinging to his lapels. “I missed you.”

Graves tucks Credence’s head under his chin and holds onto him while he shakes. “It’s me,” he murmurs into the soft dark hair. “I’m here now. It’s me.”

*

_Things Percival Graves has never told anyone, No.5._

He’s going to kill Grindelwald if he gets a good chance. He has every reason. But he thinks he would kill anybody who could make Credence cry like that.

*

Seraphina has the Niffler on her knee when Graves comes into her office the next day. She’s feeding it a biscuit. “It tried to take my earring,” she informs Graves. “Control your pets, please, Percival.”

“I can see you are taking a firm stand on this matter.”

“As Mr Scamander’s creatures go, I don’t mind this one,” Seraphina concedes. “It is a significant improvement on the Erumpent. Don’t sit down, this will be brief.”

Seraphina stands up and puts the Niffler on the floor. It hovers longingly by her feet for a minute, tempted by the shiny buckles of her new boots, before scurrying off to steal more wands. “How is the training progressing? Of the boy, not your Niffler.”

“Less effectively than it would if he had a wand. Mine doesn’t like other people.”

“You astonish me, Percival. One would think your wand would suit your gregarious personality. You haven’t answered the question, is Credence Barebone capable of controlling his magic?”

“Yes,” Graves says, truthfully. “The question is if he can ease up on control enough to use it, but that’s not what you’re worried about.” Another question is if Graves will be able to stop kissing Credence long enough to train him at all the next time they are alone, but that isn’t Seraphina’s business either.

“Hm. Keep me informed, then.” Seraphina sighs. “I suppose he can have a wand.”

Graves smiles. “Thank you, Madam President.”

“One more thing.” Seraphina lays a hand on his arm. Graves blinks. They don’t do that. “I knew something was wrong. I asked. He told me,” her fingers tighten briefly, “that he was worried about Grindelwald. I knew something was wrong and I let it go, because I trusted you.”

Graves is shocked by how much that hurts.

“I still do,” she tells him. “Or you wouldn’t be standing here. So trust me to make him pay.”

Right at that moment, he very nearly does.

*

_Things Percival Graves has never told anyone, No.6._

He doesn’t trust anyone, any more. But he would like to.

**Author's Note:**

> This work has been [translated into German](https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/58c6eb08000351b821afc61a/1/In-the-Shadows-For-Far-Too-Long-) by RenKai.


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